


One hundred ways to leave a lover

by goodbyelover



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Doomed Relationship, Fate & Destiny, M/M, Repeated lives, Resurrection, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbyelover/pseuds/goodbyelover
Summary: “A king,” the man confirmed. “This is his final resting place.”“What happened to him?” the sister asked.The man paused to consider this, eyes growing distant. “Some say that he died for love. Others say that he died to save the world.”(Inspired by the music video for Jackson's new release, 100 Ways)
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	One hundred ways to leave a lover

**Author's Note:**

> Jackson made a beautiful thing so of course I had to go and break it.
> 
> Beta'd by @maricolous ♥
> 
> Thanks for reading ♥

Two children played in the forest near their village, a brother and sister with vivid imaginations waving sticks at each other, racing through lush glen and trickling streams, the silence of the forest interrupted only by their soft cries of joy, of laughter ringing through the air. 

“Slow down, slow _down_!” the sister yelled, giving chase so her brother, not noticing that the deeper they went, the quieter it was, the more dense the forest became. Soon, sunlight struggled to break through thick foliage, the air chilled with the smell of damp earth, but the children did not notice until they were further than they’d ever played before, nearing the heart of the forest.

They did not notice until they burst into a clearing, so still and undisturbed that they froze, sticks clutched in their small fingers.

It was an eerie place, fog rolling along the ground in thick tendrils, obscuring most of the clearing. From the fog rose a circle made of stone, rough-hewn and jagged, unnatural in its perfection. From a distance, it looked like a broken crown, tarnished in its ruin. It was so still, so very still, the children were afraid that their very breath would disturb the uneasy balance that blanketed this place.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice said behind the children, finally breaking the silence. The two children gasped, whirling to see a stranger behind them, figure shrouded in a heavy traveling cloak, but with a face so kind that they weren’t so frightened by him. “This is not a place for children to play.”

“Sorry,” the brother said, dropping his stick to take his sister’s hand. They did not want to play here.

“What is this place?” the sister asked, eyes round, with none of the joy that she’d contained mere minutes earlier. “It feels… sad.”

The man knelt, smiling kindly. “This place was built in honor of a great king, from a very long time ago.”

“A king?” the brother asked, inching closer to his sister. He was not quite so brave as she, but he wouldn’t leave her behind. They could tarry a minute longer, before they would return to home and the warmth of sunlight.

“A king,” the man confirmed. “This is his final resting place.”

“What happened to him?” the sister asked.

The man paused to consider this, eyes growing distant. “Some say that he died for love. Others say that he died to save the world.” Then he shook his head, returning his gaze to the children. “You should be on your way, you are a long way from home.”

They both nodded, taking off the way they came. They would return home safely. The one who watched over the forest would have it no other way.

The traveller stood, turning back to the broken crown of stone in solemnity. As he approached, the fog parted to reveal three other figures, similarly cloaked, as they all stepped through the circle's boundary. Four of them, each to a cardinal point, the traveller standing to the north of the others. He was not nervous, there was no room for that here, but there was a weight to it all.

Not a word passed between them as they began.

It had taken a lifetime and more to find what they needed, lost relics and innocent blood and more, but they’d worked tirelessly to reach this point. The fog swept in to thicken to the point that it felt physically unyielding, obscuring their vision as it raced to the center of the circle, the rush of it all leaving the traveller’s ears ringing. He refused to falter, refused to give ground. He had walked to the very ends of this world and back; he could not fail now.

There was a great cracking sound, like the sundering of earth, and the ground shook beneath their feet as the fog whipped into a frenzy, twisting in the center of the circle, and then abruptly vanished.

Before them stood a man, noble and handsome, shoulders drawn back and head held high, dressed in simple cloth; his jaw proud and his eyes filled with a slow-burning flame. There was an implacable aspect to him, as if he was both a youth, a man just barely out of the bloom of spring, and timeless, aged to the ways of the universe. He was magnificent and he was their king.

They bowed to him, and he inclined his head to them, his visage kindly, but there was no joy to be found at his own return.

Wang Jiaer knew what awaited him.

Each of the cloaked figures clothed him, dressing him in armor fit for a king – fit for this king, to be exact, the pieces having been buried in deep catacombs over a hundred years ago. He wore the burnished gold and snarling dragons well, muscles rippling beneath his coverings.

They left the forest behind, the four following as Jiaer strode towards the mountains. The king looked and saw that the land was dying, the valleys turning to putrefied wasteland. It had probably been a slow transformation, slow enough that the people who traveled these lands didn’t even notice that their lands had begun decaying over a hundred years before.

At the base of the tallest mountain, so tall that the peak was hiding amongst the clouds, was a crack in the earth, a gaping chasm with a single pathway that led into its depths. It was a gateway, and it would let no one but Jiaer to cross its threshold.

As Jiaer gazed down into the cursed crater, the traveller approached, reaching into his worn cloak to extract one last gift to the king - his sword. It was a beautiful thing, untouched by the passage of time, gleaming wicked silver. A fox curled up around the hilt, from the pommel made of its curled tail to the blade held between the fox’s teeth. Glimmering emerald eyes, endlessly clever, stared up from the sword.

Jiaer took it in his hand and held it as an old friend.

The traveller and his companions knelt before their king and did not watch as he descended, though they would wait for his return.

Jiaer’s footfalls were heavy against the rough stone steps, but his heart was heavier. It was unfair, that this could not be something beautiful, something _precious_. It was cruel that Jiaer’s hand held a sword and not the hand of a lover.

He descended into the bowels of the earth, walking endlessly, tirelessly, as the dark enveloped him. His footsteps never faltered though, true to the path that he would walk a thousand times if he had to, as he was led deeper and deeper.

It was not as endless as it felt, the ghastly staircase leading him eventually to a great cavern, so vast that it seemed a god had reached down to remove the heart of the planet and this was the hollowed carcass. (If Jiaer put his hand to the walls, would he hear the fading heartbeat?)

In the centrum of the cavern was a dais, and upon this dais sat a throne made of fiendish obsidian, twisted in its resplendent glory.

Upon that throne sat Yien.

Beautiful, terrible Yien. Destroyer. Ravager. They had called him Devastation and he had worn it proudly. Demon King crowned with thorns.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up,” Yien said, lounging on the throne. Similar to Jiaer, Yien was untouched by the passage of time, with his ghastly pale skin and eyes devoured by inky black, flecks of gold flashing through them. When Yien smiled, his teeth were shark-like and jagged, his mouth like an open wound, raw and red.

“We don’t have to do this,” Jiaer said quietly, fingers tightening around the foxblade in his hand. He knew it wouldn’t take, but he had to try. He had to hold on to the hope that it would work, if not now then some day.

Yien laughed, harsh and biting. “I think we do,” he said, standing from the throne, a blade of obsidian appearing in his hand as he stepped down off the dais. “Don’t shirk, pitiful king, it’s unbecoming of you.”

“Yien,” Jiaer said, one last plea, even as he brought the foxblade up, blocking Yien as the obsidian blade stabbed towards his heart. It gave him no pleasure to knock Yien’s sword aside, the foxblade’s tip kissing Yien’s cheek and drawing first blood.

***

_“Yien!” Prince Jiaer called, spinning around in circles as he laughed, boyish elation splashed across his face. The sun hung high in the sky, turning midday heavy with heat in a way that only the most perfect summer sun could. It sent rivulets of sweat running down Jiaer’s bare chest, tamped his hair down to his temples. “Yien, don’t sulk, come join me.”_

_“I’m fine where I am,” Yien called, sprawled out beneath a nearby great oak, and if Yien wouldn’t come to him, Jiaer would go instead, flinging himself across the field. Yien looked exquisite, dressed down to a simple cotton shirt and breeches, his beloved silver foxblade slung around his waist but not much else in the way of adornment. It suited him, Jiaer thought. A jewel did not need anything added to be dazzling._

_Yien cracked an eye open at Jiaer’s expectant hovering. “It’s too hot, Gaga.”_

_“I know,” Jiaer said, grinning broadly as he toppled over to cage Yien in with no hope of escape and shook his head, sweat droplets flying off him, smacking into Yien’s face. Yien laughed even as he tried to shove Jiaer off of him, raucous and rowdy, his face scrunched up, and Jiaer knew that he’d love him forever._

***

The familiarity of the situation was not lost on the king, as they traded blows. More than a century ago, Yien’s blade had found its mark, and Jiaer had died, clutching his heartblood as Yien stood over him.

Jiaer was not sure he could afford a repeat.

Yien pushed, pushed, pushed at him, trying to gain any ground that he could, and Jiaer matched him, stalwart in the face of Yien’s trickery.

As Yien lunged forward, their blades clashed with a harsh screech, Jiaer quickly trying to throw him off balance.

“You’re so soft,” Yien hissed, eyes flaring burnished gold to match Jiaer’s armor. “What good does this sentiment do you, noble king?”

“None,” Jiaer whispered, misery threaded through that single word as he brought his free hand up to punch Yien in the throat. Pain blossomed up his arm as the obsidian blade bit deep into his flesh, but it was enough, as Jiaer was able to pull the foxblade free of their tangled embrace; it was enough as Yien choked, letting slip his guard for just a split second. 

There was no mercy when Jiaer plunged the foxblade straight into Yien’s chest.

The world stilled.

Stilled. 

Stilled.

The obsidian blade clattered to the ground as Yien brought his hand up, touched his fingertips to the foxblade that bloomed from his chest like the most terrible flower. " _Oh_ ," was all he said. Black sludge bled from the wound, sluggish and vile. This seemed to surprise him, as the blade cut his fingers, and he stood there and stared down until he coughed brokenly, more black sludge staining his lips - Yien’s own heartblood - and he finally fell.

Jiae caught him, arms gentle as they held Yien, slowly bringing them both to the ground. There were no others to bear witness and so nobody saw the tender way Jiaer cradled Yien’s ruined body. Nobody saw the way the king cupped Yien’s cheek, palm trembling. Nobody saw the way tears came to Jiaer’s eyes. He held Yien not as a king who’d died a century before by Yien’s hand, or the king who’d triumphed over Yien a hundred years before that, but as a boy who’d fallen in love during the sweetest summer countless years before that.

Yien coughed, weak and fading fast. “Well... “ he managed, looking up at Jiaer, though his gaze was wildly unfocused “I guess – _fuck,_ ” his chest heaved, more black ichor spewing, and Jiaer was nothing but sweetness as he wiped it away from Yien’s lips. “You win.”

“Shhh, shhh,” Jiaer whispered, stroking Yien’s hair, and he tried valiantly to smile down at him, but he just couldn’t. 

Yien was fading so fast, eyes dimming. “I’ll see you – Next time, Gaga.”

“I know.” Jiaer whispered, a tear streaking down his cheek, falling to Yien’s bleeding heart. “Just… just rest, my love.” 

Yien fought weakly, as though he wanted to say something else, but he couldn’t manage it anymore.

Jiaer held him until he was gone.

And then he wept, tears bitter and heartbroken as he curled over the broken body of the boy he’d love forever, and howled in pain.

  
  
  
  
  


Later, Jiaer would rise, would take the foxblade and leave Yien’s body in the depths of the earth. He’d return to the surface, where the traveller and his companions waited for him. When he set foot on the lands again, there would be the softest green shoots of grass beginning to grow beneath his feet, but he’d feel no victory in that. He’d journey back to the forest, to wait, because that is how it was and would be. He’d see Yien again.

All he had to do was wait.


End file.
